


Oh, your love is sunlight

by TheBoyWhoWalksInTheLight



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Familial Love, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, People being soft with Simon, Platonic Love, SIMON DESERVES ALL THE KISSES, and some Romantic Love, because these two are besotted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26794243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBoyWhoWalksInTheLight/pseuds/TheBoyWhoWalksInTheLight
Summary: "She leans forward and presses a kiss into my temple. No one has ever kissed me there. No one has ever kissed me anywhere but on my mouth."OR3 times Simon was kissed + 1 time he was kissed on the mouth
Relationships: Lucy Salisbury & Simon Snow, Penelope Bunce & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 13
Kudos: 80





	Oh, your love is sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> So I haven't written a fic in a hot minute (four years). Hi!  
> I re-read/listened to the audiobook version of Carry On a while ago and this particular line jumped out and made me Feel Things. Non-sexual forms of intimacy and love are very important to me, and it's something that I think Simon lacks for much of his life. Sooooo Feelings ensued.

_"She leans forward and presses a kiss into my temple. No one has ever kissed me there. No one has ever kissed me anywhere but on my mouth."_

1.

Her child. Her rosebud boy. She held him in her arms even as she felt herself weaken, the remnants of her magic trickling out of her. His lips unfurled like petals, issuing the desperate wails of a newborn baby, angry at the indignity of being brought into this world. His whole face was screwed up and red. And she smiled through the sticky mask of tears on her face. _Simon. My rosebud boy_.

A feeling deep in her soul tugged at her. She knew she would not get to spend long with her son. With great effort, her leaden limbs pulling her to the very earth, she dipped her head forward to press a kiss onto his rounded cheek, trying to communicate all her love. Her hopes and dreams that he might have a happy life. He quietened. Gradually. As if reassured. As if understanding what his mother was trying to tell him. His eyes fixed on her face. Blue like hers, they were so so bright. And _alivealivealive_.

2.

Simon’s dorm room smelled suffocatingly of smoke like there was a campfire lit in every corner. (It was him. He had been the blazing inferno.) It clung to the back of Penny’s throat and made her eyes feel scratchy. (She didn’t mind.)

After going off, Simon had stood in the shower for a millennium encased in an hour, trying to get rid of the smell. And when he had been so tired that he could barely stand, Penny coaxed him out, drying him off as best she could. Gently tugging pyjamas over his skinny legs and guiding him to bed. He fell asleep almost instantly, the side of his face pressed into his pillow and his arm dangling off the side.

Penny gazed at him, her eyes soft and a bit sad. Oh, how she loved this stupid, noble boy. Forced to bear the burdens of the whole magical world upon brittle shoulders.

She leaned down, placing a delicate kiss where his wet curls flopped over his forehead. Reticent to leave him, Penny sat on the floor there, slumped against his bed, resting her head against his dangling arm. To be certain. To make sure he was alright. To make sure she was alright. To keep them both safe until morning. If he can look after the world, she can look after him.

3.

Baz huffs and rolls over, unable to sleep. Simon is having a nightmare. A _bad_ one. He’s moaning (in pain?) and whimpering pitifully. Heady smoke slowly started to fill their dorm room. Words like ‘no’ and ‘stop’ and ‘please’ carry over to Baz, settling over him like a too-heavy blanket. He feels his (empty, cold) heart beating faster against his rib cage. In fear? In sympathy? Oxygen deprivation? That must be it.

He wants to go across and shake Simon awake. To hold him in his arms, run a hand through his golden curls. Rock him back and forth and tell him everything is okay. _He wants, he wants, he wants_.

He wants so badly that he feels his legs swing off the edge of his bed before he’s even given them permission. That same pull in his gut bestowed upon him by the Crucible once again tugs him across the small expanse between their beds. He tells himself that he merely wishes to prevent Mummer’s House burning down. That’s all.

Standing over Snow now, his hands itch to connect the constellations mapped out on his face. _He shouldn’t_. (Oh, but how he wants.)

For a moment. Two moments, maybe, he lets himself be soft. Cool fingers ghost across Simon’s boiling forehead, gently pushing his hair back. Lips place the mere whisper of a kiss on his temple.

He pulls back quickly. He’s already ashamed at his weakness. He scrambles back to his own bed, pulling the covers back over himself, his heart beating even harder in his chest, so much so that he’s certain it will burst out. That it will run down the stairs, out onto the Great Lawn. But he’s still facing towards Simon, watching him.

Simon had stopped whimpering and moaning. His mutterings had ceased. Instead, a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, as if his dreams had turned into something pleasant.

Baz allows himself a minuscule lift of the corner of his lips. He quickly scrubs his hand over his mouth, as if trying to erase such an action. But, still. His chest no longer feels so heavy and sleep draws up to claim him. If he dreams of bronze curls and ordinary blue eyes, that’s no one’s business but his own.

\+ 1

Simon stretches languidly, yawning. He rolls over to study the way the morning light settles across Baz’s skin, gilding him. Highlighting the points that his fingers itch to touch. There’s nothing stopping him. He touches. Along his sharp cheekbone, the dip of his hairline, the less-than-straight-thanks-to-him line of his nose. The curve of his lips.

Baz lets out a small, sleepy sigh. A rumble from deep in his chest. “Morning, Simon.”

Simon feels as though all the sunlight in the room suddenly amasses into the cavity of his chest, pushing the walls outwards, making it hard for him to breathe. His face is broken by an untameable smile that forces his eyes nearly closed.

“Morning,” he says, unable to keep the burning warmth out of his voice.

Baz finally cracks his eyes open, smiling softly back at Simon, feeling as though he is wrapped in ten of the fuzziest blankets imaginable.

“Aren’t we chipper this morning,” he murmurs in a falsely grumpy voice, entirely betrayed by the softness in his eyes and the curve of his mouth.

“Yup,” Simon replies, popping the ‘p’.

“And why might that be?” he questions.

“You,” Simon states simply, his smile once again widening at the blush that struggles across Baz’s fair cheeks. Simon had never been eloquent, but that single word was imbued with such love and affection that Baz can’t help himself. He leans in closer to Simon’s face. He places a gentle kiss on Simon’s nose, his chin, the rise of his cheek, the corner of his eye, the mole on his jaw just begging for it. Simon couldn’t help the giggles that leaked out of him.

He lays a stilling hand on Baz’s jaw. “Baz.”

“Simon,” Baz repeats back in jesting mockery.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does. Baz presses his cool lips against Simon’s, his mouth curling in a slight smile. Simon presses back, moving slowly, sweetly. Sharing his warmth with Baz. They stay like that for … a while. Kissing. Speaking softly to one another. For a minute. An hour. Their whole lives.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I would adore you forever if you decided to leave me a comment.


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